


Lovely Way To Burn

by Sacramental_Wine



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff and Crack, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Shameless Smut, Things I Do For Love, Voice Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-14
Updated: 2013-02-14
Packaged: 2017-11-29 05:13:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/683210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sacramental_Wine/pseuds/Sacramental_Wine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Swerve needed more customers. You’d imagine having a monopoly on the high-grade trade wouldn’t make that an issue but you’d be wrong. Over-charged Cybertonians demanded something more. The big ‘E’. Entertainment." Of course, who better to ask than Tailgate?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lovely Way To Burn

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thekumquat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thekumquat/gifts).



> So this was inspired and coerced from me by my dear, loving friends who feel that there is not enough porn of this pairing. I admit to it being shameless crack. I know they liked it so I hope you do too.

Swerve needed more customers. You’d imagine having a monopoly on the high-grade trade wouldn’t make that an issue but you’d be wrong. Over-charged Cybertonians demanded something more. The big ‘E’. Entertainment. The bar needed some kind of entertainment to keep the customers coming, staying and most importantly ordering more. So Swerve in his wisdom knew he had to ask a friend for help.

“A-Are you serious?” Tailgate sputtered. The proposition was ludicrous, potentially embarrassing, and well outside of his job description; thank you very much. Really, what was Swerve thinking?

“Come on Tailgate! You know I’ve heard you sing those torch songs of yours in the wash-racks and you’re really good! Plus you’re easy on the eyes, all you need to be a great lounge singer!” Swerve knew it was the perfect idea, it had to be. Tailgate was nice enough to at least not say no outright like some other choices did who shall remain nameless.

“You listen to me in the wash-racks?”

“Not the point! Will you do a pal a favor? Please? I really need the help!” How Swerve could manage to look like a kicked turbo-puppy with his visor but somehow he managed.

It was against his better judgment but Tailgate finally sighed and agreed to the deal. Free drinks for life wasn’t such a bad gig and it could be fun. Before he knew it Swerve was pulling him down the corridor to the bar to practice since, after all, he had announced the show planned for the evening to Rodimus only a short while ago so soon everyone was going to be ordered to attend. If only for the chance at some amusement on this boring trip and the potential moral boost.

 

Cyclonus would never lie and play at being a social butterfly. No he was more the sit in his room and read type. But, sadly, Rodimus had seen fit to drag him to this event with the promise of “entertainment”. Of course now he was stuck sitting between Drift and Rodimus lamenting the fact that he hadn’t killed him when he’d had the chance. They talked in whispers to each other and Drift would pull away every so often to wave at Perceptor who got stranded at a table with Brainstorm and Rung and every moment made Cyclonus wish more and more that he had died before ending up in a closed environment with most of these bots.

“Mechs and femmes!” Swerve stood on the make shift stage and shouted over the crowd until a hush came over them. There were no femmes present but hey, inclusively, Cyclonus couldn’t fault him for that. “Tonight for your enjoyment we got a lovely young mech here who’s guaranteed to rev your engine. Please give a warm welcome to you’re very own Tailgate! Singin’ the classics!”

“Tailgate?” It was almost comical that Rodimus, Drift, and Cyclonus had managed for a moment to be on the exact same page with the exact same question. It would have been funny, Cyclonus thought, if his roommate hadn’t just appeared on stage freshly polished and with his hips cocked coquettishly and with his visor darkened more than usual. Cyclonus vented slowly and held his ground. This was…new.

It was easier to handle until Tailgate started to actually _sing_.

Cyclonus heard Rodimus vent harshly in shock next to him and saw Drift look at his barely touched drink as though it had been drugged. He had no clue about how…talented the smaller bot actually was until just now. He could handle singing, the soft seductive lyrics dripping into his audials like hot wax and…Cyclonus physically shook his head to clear it just in time to see shy little Tailgate strut shamelessly across the stage to jump up on the table Ratchet and First Aid occupied. The singing continued and Tailgate’s legs stretched out to cross and uncross while he looked around the room. It showed off Tailgate’s hips in such a sinful way that Cyclonus had to concentrate on keeping his cooling fans from switching on.

Tailgate, for his part, was practically vibrating with the positive attention. The cat-calls and whistles were just perfect to boost his little ego. He jumped from the table after First Aid gave a shy cheer and looked about his audience once more before noticing Cyclonus. It wasn’t so much a shock as an incredibly pleasant surprise. He could sing _for_ Cyclonus and make every word even more sincere…and have a little fun while he was at it. He was getting close to the final verse of the song and began to slowly approach the table, hips rolling with each step to many a heated comment from Whirl and Skids. Cyclonus’ optics were widening. _Perfect_.

Drift and Rodimus saw the heated look in Tailgate’s visor, focused right on their sullen comrade who was trying hard to pretend he wasn’t affected. They knew though, could feel the heat rolling off of Cyclonus in waves and they knew that they had to do anything in their power to keep the jet from flying away. They shared a grin behind Cyclonus’ back and offered their hands to help Tailgate crawl up onto the table. They heard the hitch in Cyclonus’ vents at the sight of Tailgate’s admittedly attractive frame slinking up to splay his legs on either side of Cyclonus’ seated frame. Well and truly trapped by a heated visor and hips too appealing for their own good.

Tailgate made sure to look Cyclonus right in his beautiful red optics as he sang the last lilting, promising notes. He swung his legs back around so he could kneel forward and run one of his servos along the seams in the jet’s chest plate. He could feel the purr of that powerful engine and see the warring mix of lust and curiosity in Cyclonus’ gaze and it sent a shiver right up his back strut. He wanted Cyclonus to look at him like that all the time. He could drown in that fiery look and as the song said, what a lovely way to _burn_.

That last word sent Cyclonus’ circuits sizzling in a strut-melting way and he had to restrain the impossibly rash urge to grab the little bot and drag him fully into his lap. Tailgate climbed off the table with a cheeky shake of his hips and Cyclonus growled audibly much to Drift and Rodimus’ amusement. Cyclonus should leave now but walking with a pressurized spike was less than fun.

He’d made it through one song, clearly he should be able to make it through oh…seven more? It was enough to make him want to bash his head into the table but then he wouldn’t be able to watch Tailgate gear himself up again. He could be…patient. Though the sight of Tailgate bending over to retrieve a small sip of energon put that whole idea into question. You can make it, Cyclonus thought, patience.

 

Almost everyone had left the bar after the performance, which had been a rousing success, and Tailgate set about helping to clean up. He didn’t notice Cyclonus’ slow approach from behind until a clawed finger tip traced over the exaggerated flair of his hip and caused him to gasp softly. “C-Cyclonus?” he whispered and received a heated growl in return. His servo was clasped in one much larger than his own and he was spun into Cyclonus’ arms and lifted clear off the ground to be set on a table. That hot look from the show had only managed to tinge Cyclonus’ optics a deep lava red and his engine started to rev gently as the larger bot’s servos drew slowly up his thighs to catch across sensitive wires.

“You’re talented, Tailgate,” Cyclonus breathed against his audial. Cyclonus’ rumbling voice saying his name like that sent a sharp tingle down his back strut to pool in the bottom of his fuel tank. Tailgate held in a whimper as the larger bot’s claws scratched lightly across his plating to gently press on the exposed wires in his hip joint. “In more ways than one. You have me captivated now, tell me, what will you demand of my attention?” The question was clearly rhetorical but it didn’t stop Tailgate from squirming under his attention. The upward lilt of Cyclonus’ smirk let him know he was in trouble before he even opened his mouth though. “We could always…dance if I can get you to sing for me again.”

Tailgate had no time to respond because Cyclonus buried his helm and mouth-plates in Tailgate’s neck cables and it was all he could do to grab onto Cyclonus’ horn and moan softly. He was nipped and licked until the cables felt raw and he was rubbing his thighs together while trying to spread them and Primus how many times had he imagined this at night? With Cyclonus just one berth over from him how many times had he imagined being at the larger bot’s mercy? If he had known this was all he had to do to snap Cyclonus’ self control he would have done it ages ago. He finally managed to part his legs and get them around Cyclonus’ waist to pull him closer and was rewarded with a rumbling, possessive growl that shot straight to his interface panel.

Cyclonus gave the cable one last teasing nip before pulling back to lay biting kisses along Tailgate’s jaw line. He squeezed Tailgate’s thighs roughly and was rewarded with a gasp and a wiggle. The jet ground his interface panel against Tailgate’s and drew another long moan from the smaller bot and a smearing of lubricant across the front of his plating. He ran his glossa over his denta and flicked his claws along the leaking seams between Tailgate’s legs. “Wet already? Perhaps all the excitement?” The panel opened with a click and Cyclonus practically purred at the sight that greeted him. “Or something else?”

Tailgate felt like his frame was going to melt under Cyclonus’ servos. He’d never been revved up so quickly in his life but just the heady rush of having teased the larger bot to the point of jumping him made him need it, need that gaze always focused on him. When a finger tip began to teasingly trace the rim of his valve he moaned deep in his chest and his vocalizer clicked with the stress. “Cyclonus…nnnh…don’t tease,” it wasn’t so much a plea as it was a strangled command. The larger bot chuckled before pushing the finger in and gently twisting.

“Why not? You’ve been teasing me all evening, Tailgate,” Cyclonus whispered, hot and breathy into the smaller bot’s audial. He thrust his finger slowly, feeling out the tightness and spreading the lubricant. The jet was fighting a losing battle with his own interface panel but it could wait. “Do you know how much it made my circuits burn to watch you like that? Undulating your hips like you were begging for someone, for me, to grab that nice aft of yours and wear out your knee struts by fragging you into the floor? Mmm you should sing more often,” he growled, thrusting in a second finger to illustrate his point. Tailgate was a mess of moans and whimpers in his arms and the only thing keeping him upright were his legs on Cyclonus’ hips and the jet’s own arm that was curled around his shoulders.

Tailgate could only stare helplessly into Cyclonus’ eyes and moan wildly as he was stretched. Heat rolled with his hips as he ground down on the digits in his valve, imitating the rhythm of one of the songs he sang and the words came back to him in a rush. Like a fever bubbling up in his fuel lines. But the fingers, now three in total, weren’t enough and he reached out to manually open Cyclonus’ panel. “Let me make it up to you?” he groaned sincerely and saw Cyclonus shudder as the plating retracted and his spike extended.

The jet moaned in relief. He’d been primed and ready for what felt like ages. In his right mind he’d consider the size difference more carefully. In his right mind he’d double check to make sure Tailgate was fully ready. In his right mind they’d be in their quarters with the door locked. Currently, Cyclonus was not in his right mind and they were not in their quarters but in the middle of Swerve’s bar where anyone could walk in. He lined his spike up with Tailgate’s valve and licked the smaller bot’s audial. “I’ll lead, you provide the tune.” And with that he slowly began to push into the incredibly tight frame beneath his.

There was no other word for it; Tailgate _wailed_ Cyclonus’ name as he was languidly penetrated. Primus, Cyclonus felt huge and he felt stretched and full and so unbearably hot that his cooling fans had vented fully open and it wasn’t doing him any good. He opened his face plate and panted in an attempt to help cool his overheated systems but his mouth was soon invaded by Cyclonus’ glossa battling with his own. All he could do was whimper and squirm and rock down onto the spike that was pushing against nodes he didn’t even know he had and he felt the charge build higher without even moving. He pulled out of the kiss to look Cyclonus in the optics and moaned softly. “ _Move_ ,” he purred and clenched his legs tight.

Far be it from Cyclonus to resist a direct command. The jet began a slow, deep rhythm and rolled his hips to push as deep as he could go into the smaller bot without hurting him. Tailgate responded beautifully with a medley of whimpers and cries that filled Cyclonus’ audials with the loveliest song he’d heard all night. He buried himself in Tailgate’s frame with a sharp thrust that drew a sharp squeak as he hit a node dead center with his spike. “You’ll have to mmm perform for me in private sometime, Tailgate. Ah, you’re irresistible like that.” It was a grandiose compliment that got the desired response of bucking hips and a choked wail. Cyclonus began to move at a harder, faster pace, unaware of the ominous creaking of the table below them.

Tailgate felt like molten metal being poured into a mould around Cyclonus’ spike the fit was so perfectly snug and heated his circuits perfectly. He could blurrily make out the shimmers of heat radiating off of him and the jet as they slammed against each other. He felt himself rushing towards overload and couldn’t keep himself from screaming. White-hot sparks danced over their plating and tripped along Tailgate’s exposed circuits until he was frying up on the inside. What a lovely way to burn indeed. If this was how his processor fried, he’d bee more than satisfied. The smaller bot began to wail ad the first waves of release washed over him.

Cyclonus felt Tailgate’s valve calipers tighten and he growled. They were both so close, so close he could taste the ozone of burning circuits on his glossa. He picked up the pace until Tailgate tumbled over the edge with a beautifully loud shriek of Cyclonus’ name and he followed with a snarl. They writhed against each other until Cyclonus slumped forward to catch Tailgate in another invasive kiss. The little bot moaned and rocked on the slowly retracting spike until they both heard a loud creak from under them and they crashed to the floor.

Apparently the tables were not structurally sound enough to withstand a pounding and both of their weight. Tailgate began to giggle through his exaggerated panting and Cyclonus would have joined him had he not caught sight of Swerve watching them both with a grin.

“You know, those tables are expensive. If this is gonna happen after every performance I may have to rescind my free energon offer.”


End file.
